Spare Parts and Appendices
by MistressMine
Summary: Scenes and addendums which simply must be written. A collection of bits and bobs, missing scenes and backstories. Open to prompts and suggestions.


**A/N Hello everyone! With the success of my first story, **_**All Things Considered**_**, and the recent launch of **_**Atlas**_**, my sequel to **_**Goliath**_**, I have decided to continue writing for this fandom. And so, I present **_**Spare Parts and Appendices, **_**an anthology of one-shot scenes which I felt ought to be put out there but which are too short to justify individual publication. I plan on including several mini story-arcs (mostly dealing with backstories) as well. Isn't that nice? However, I cannot say how often I will be updating (going off to college does so eat up one's time) so you all must bear with me on this. That said, I would be more than happy to entertain any ideas/suggestions/requests you all might have for me. So without further ado . . .**

**Leviathan series © Westerfeld**

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First Impressions

_Konopiste, Prague, 1909_

Alek stared at his reflection in the gilt mirror and frowned fiercely. His newly tailored uniform was itchy and too tight. What sense was it anyway, putting a ten-year-old into a military uniform? He liked the army's machines and maneuvers, but why did he have to wear their clothes in miniature?

"Very fine," his father murmured behind him, "Very fine, indeed."

Alek's frown only deepened. "Why do I have to be so dressed up for a fencing lesson, father? Does your friend always dress like this?"

Franz Ferdinand smiled. "Always. Count Volger enjoys symbols of station. Now, I want you to do just as he tells you, understand? He is a master and a friend of the family as well as your elder." He paused. "Only . . . do not let him push you around too much, Aleksandar."

The little prince drew himself up. "I don't let anyone push me around. I am the prince of Austria-Hungary."

If his father's face fell a fraction, Alek did not notice.

The Archduke of Austria put his hand on his son's shoulder. "Yes, you are."

Alek had only a few preconceived notions about his new tutor. His mother kept him away from the court at all costs, and so having never met the man his father called his greatest friend, Alek knew the Count only from the little his father had said about him. From these stories, Alek had decided that Count Volger must be like the war heroes in the old stories: tall, on a galloping white horse, and with a great lance or shining sword. Apt to be caught up in the moment, he did not question the usefulness of lances in the age of machines, and instead began to wonder if Volger had fought any dragons. The Darwinists had dragons, didn't they?

What Alek saw waiting for him as he tottered out into the courtyard was not what he had been expecting.

Count Volger was a giant (at least to Alek's eyes, which stood all of four and a half feet off the ground), but his face was lined and his tawny* hair was going gray. The man was so sharp and spindly that Alek was reminded less of the heroes in the old stories than of the villains. The severity of his expression did not help matters. The Count loomed over him with hard blue eyes.

"It is a matter of great importance, Your Highness," said the Count, "That you should make a habit of being on time for every appointment. Punctuality is the politeness of kings." He looked to Alek's father. "However, perhaps I should have directed that at you, Franz. You're late."

"His mother decided to give him a last minute checking over." He laughed. "You know, she's worried sick that you might actually teach him something."

The Count snorted. "Princess Sophie is nothing if not meticulous, I suppose."

The Archduke chuckled. "I will leave him in your capable hands, then. Goodbye, Aleksandar."

"Goodbye, father."

Alek watched his father disappear inside, a vague feeling of abandonment creeping up on him.

"Hmmm," Count Volger murmured. "Turn around, boy. Let me look at you properly."

Boy? No one had ever called him that before. His parents called him Aleksandar, his tutors called him Your Highness, so did the servants if they were allow to address him at all. But boy? Never.

_He is a master and a friend of the family as well as your elder . . ._

Alek grudgingly turned around. The Count's eyes roved him over, mercilessly appraising.

"Keep turning. Hmmm, not horrible. Stop." The Count commanded.

Alek stopped turning. None of his tutors had ever used that particular tone with him either.

"Stand like this, with your legs apart, knees bent, and arms to the side. Stand still."

_I want you to do just as he tells you . . ._

Alek did his best to copy the stance. It was uncomfortable and he could feel his legs slowly beginning to cramp.

"No." The Count sighed. "Atrocious. Try again, boy."

_Only . . . do not let him push you around too much, Aleksandar . . ._

"My name is not 'boy'." Alek drew himself up in indignation as much as a ten-year-old could. "I am His Serene Highness Prince Aleksandar of Hohenburg of the House of Hapsburg. That is my name—not 'boy'. And what's the point of just standing here like—?"

"Wrong," the Count said, and Alek felt the sharp sting of a switch** hit the back of his knees. He toppled over, stifling a yelp. A long shadow fell over him as he lay on the ground.

"That is the title of a royal child." The shadow said. It took him by the collar and pulled him upright. "Which you are not."

"But I _am_ a royal." He insisted, and was rewarded with another swat to the back of the knees. This time he wavered but did not fall.

"No," said the Count, "Your _father_ is a royal."

"You're not a royal." Alek said petulantly.

The Count gave him bored look.

"I am nobility." He said, in a patronizing tone as though he were speaking to someone very slow. "A wildcount. Do you know what that means, boy?"

Alek remained silent. He knew the title meant that Count Volger and his family only owned forested land, practically worthless except for hunting. He also knew the title used to be given out as a gift to wealthy _commoners_ who had earned the favor of the monarch***. He also knew that all these answers would be the wrong one.

"It means that I outrank you, as I would anyway being your teacher for the hour." The Count lightly tapped the switch to Alek's knee. "Mind them. You will lose your balance and then where would you be against an opponent?"

Alek squirmed a bit and tried to imagine his legs as tree trunks going into the ground.

"Marginal," said the Count. "Keep that position."

"But I thought you were going to teach me to swordfight!" Alek whined.

"I am teaching you to _fence_. There is a difference."

"But how is just standing here like this fencing? I don't even have a sword."

"You will, eventually. And when you do it will be called a foil, not a sword. And when you become proficient at that, you will have a sabre." Volger pulled the glinting, gold-tasseled blade from its sheath hanging from his belt. "Like this."

It was a cavalry officer's sabre, Alek knew that by the crest. Its perfectly polished blade reflected the sun and sent long beams of light streaking across the courtyard. Its point was fine and incredibly sharp.

Alek wanted one. "How—how long will that be?"

"Three years, maybe four."

"Four years!?—Ow!"

"Or perhaps never, should your defiance continue at this pace." He slid the sabre back into its sheath with a very final sounding click.

Alek scowled as menacingly as he could, screwing up his face and flaring his nostrils like he had seen his nursemaid do when she had stepped on one of his Stormwalker figurines. But somehow, Volger's unrelenting stare, that one arched, condescending eyebrow and thin, curled lip was worse. So much worse.

As slowly as he could, Alek shifted back into position and relaxed his face.

"Mind your knees." The Count said.

"What do I do now?"

"Stay like that. This is strength and balance training. Before you can hold a foil you must learn to stand properly, to not fall over if the wind blows. Fencing has as much to do with balance and footwork as it does with hitting a mark."

"Oh," Alek felt stupid. He felt stupid standing like that, he felt stupid in his uniform, and he felt stupid that he had somehow thought he would be able to pick up a sword and hack something to bits in his first lesson. He felt stupid for thinking it was going to be fun, and he felt stupider still for thinking that Count Volger, his father's "greatest friend", would be anything like a storybook hero. Had his mother not always kept him from the nobles for this very reason?

"Boy," Volger's hard tone brought Alek out of his self-pity. "Your father asked me personally to teach you how to defend yourself. I am not in the habit of breaking my obligations. You will learn to fence. You will handle a foil. You will remember to mind your knees." He brushed the switch against Alek's leg. "However long that takes. Rest assured."

Alek pretended he was made of stone, deaf to the world. He would be a statue like the ones in the garden, absolutely still. If Count Volger was going to teach him, he decided, he would learn, if only to spite him.

If Volger saw something change in Alek then, he did not say. But the sudden bitter determination in the boy's face was evident. Good. He would need that, now and in the future. Perhaps he was not such a lost cause after all.

"Remember to keep your head up, _Aleksandar_."

_Fin_

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**A/N Optional musical accompaniment: "I'll Make a Man out of You" (Multilanguage) from Disney's **_**Mulan**_

**Also, I think that last line might be my favorite. So many interpretations . . . And writing children is hard!**

***So, where do you all stand on the whole hair color debate?**

****Although Alek would probably not have been switched in real life, him having royal blood, beating children or hitting them with long, thin pieces of wood (called switching, birching, or caning) to get them to behave was a common practice a hundred years ago. Most of the time switching was done with the child's legs being bare, leaving red welts. Alek is, of course, wearing trousers so it hurts somewhat less. And he is being flippant. We can also assume Volger probably isn't doing it very hard.**

*****I have no idea if that's what the title means. Actually I'm not even sure if it is a real life title, so you'll forgive me for taking creative license.**


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